Deserved Happiness
by Miss Maia
Summary: This story happens five, ten, fifteen years after Katniss and Peeta are back at District Twelve. Some would say Katniss already faced her worst fears, but maybe another event will change this opinion.


**Disclaimer: **I don't own the Hunger Games trilogy; this is just an attempt at fun by playing with someone else's toys.

_This story happens five, ten, fifteen years after Katniss and Peeta are back at District Twelve. Some would say Katniss already faced her worst fears, but maybe another event will change this opinion._

* * *

**Deserved Happiness **

The sound of the birds wakes me up, telling me it would soon be a new day. I release myself from the arm around my waist to sit on the bed. One look at Peeta's face and I know he'll sleep for at least another hour. His mouth is slightly open and he's drooling. I suppress a smile as I use the edge of the sheet to clean his face. I brush his unshaved beard; small white hairs fighting for space between the blond ones. I already asked him to shave, but he thinks it makes him look older. Well, it does, that's why I keep asking him to shave. I graze his forehead, feeling his rough scar under my fingers; that's what really makes him look older. He mutters against my palm, slowly shaking his head, but doesn't open his eyes. He's exhausting himself in his attempt, and as the months keep passing and nothing happens, he just keeps trying harder, giving us more sleepless nights.

After a sigh I get up from the bed, stealthy treading to the bathroom we have in the room. It's strange as I think of it as Peeta's attempt and not mine. I mean, it should be _our_ endeavor, not just his. But as the time was passing and we didn't succeed, the idea was gradually abandoning my heart. Honestly, it was more a relief for me. But Peeta...

I'm already in my boots and jacket when I get out of the bathroom and glance at him one more time. He's drooling again. I go to the closet to grab my bow and arrows, not the fancy ones designed with the Capitol's technology, but a wooden one I made myself around eight years ago . I get downstairs and look at the window, seeing that it's still dark. It will be dawn in less than an hour; I should just pack a few things and have a quiet breakfast in the woods.

The woods.

I don't spend as much time there as I used to. Not just because I'm older. Well, the fact that I can't climb, hike or run like a teenager is the main problem, but I also have more obligations in town. In the past ten years District Twelve has blossomed. Most of its residents that survived returned after the reconstruction, and groups of families from different districts came to help in the new production of medicine. I help Peeta in his bakery as best as I can, though he knows almost everything I touch ends up burned. So, thankfully, most of my duties are politically related. I should have known that Plutarch would never set me free from the cameras. The interviews still annoy me – mostly because I have to look absolutely perfect and peachy in all of them – and my favorite job as the symbol of the New Rebellion is the lectures I give in the schools. At first I dreaded them, too many bad memories child-related for me. But then I realized that I could give hope to those children, that I could let them dream in a world without Reaping, that I was the symbol of a world where "Games" is just a slang saying or a word in history books. When I felt _that_, I started to love my trips around the country to make those speeches. Of course Peeta helped and without his assistance it'd be the same as asking a potato to make a discourse. I chose to ignore that he would accept any job that'd led him close to children.

My stomach growls, pulling me away from my thoughts. I search in the kitchen, finding a tray of cheese buns. They are cold, probably from yesterday, but I throw two in my mouth before packing another five. With a hunk of cheese bun still in my mouth, I leave the house and head for the woods. I can see lights in some of the windows, attracting the night's bugs that are still around. Haymitch's lights are on. There's a high chance he gave another restless night for his couple of nurses. He didn't expect an entire life of booze without consequences, did he?

As I pass the Victor Village's arch-gate, I can see the first gleam of the sun spreading between the Justice Building, the Market, the shops, the Factory; it's our sign that we are able to be reborn from the ashes. It's also an indication that I need to get to the woods soon and rig the snares while the ground still has dew to cover my trail. When I get to the town I see some familiar sleepy faces waving good morning to me. I respond to the gestures nodding my head, eventually smiling. I see Sae's granddaughter winking at me from her way to the Market; her cheerful manner seems to say she'll expect fresh game from my hunt. The woman is not clever, but she did inherit her grandmother's talent to turn anything into tasty food. I make a mental note to bring her at least a couple of rabbits before I cross the Seam.

The Meadow is spectacularly green this midsummer. I should take the opportunity to have a pleasant picnic with Peeta here. We could even invite Delly and her family. Maybe playing with toddlers will cheer him up.

I'm half a mile into the woods when I start to feel queasy. Maybe those cheese buns were not from yesterday and were already spoiled. I stop at a tree, supporting my weight with one hand as I drink a gulp of water from my canteen. The cold water feels good in my throat, but just seemed to unnerve my stomach even more. I slouch on the tree's root, the warmth from the sun in my right. As I feel the nausea getting stronger, the unpleasant acid feeling in the back of my throat, I slip aside my braid just in time to turn to the other side of the tree. There goes my breakfast.

I hiccup a little as another wave comes up, trembling as I clench at the tree's bark. I just hate vomiting. After a few deep breaths and crawling to the next tree free from the reek of spoiled cheese buns, I rest my head on the trunk. A layer of sweat is forming in my forehead, and also running down my back. My vision is still blurred when I reopen my eyes a few minutes later, so I tuck my head between my knees, hoping the blood flow will right itself.

_Ugh_. I haven't had a stomachache for quite some time, the last time being from menstrual colic a couple of months ago. I'm still breathing deeply, my head between my knees, my backpack and bow spread around me, my hands loosely on the ground when realization hits.

"No." The word is out of my mouth before I can think about it. I raise my head so I can shake it in agreement with my line of thoughts. "No, no, no, no..." The stream of denial flows through my lips and mind. My eyes wide in terror and suddenly I'm shaking again. I'm hyperventilating and wobbly as I try to stand up. The woods start to disappear from my view, being replaced by a black stain. The last thing I remember is the sound of my own body hitting the soft soil.

* * *

A heating sensation on my cheek wakes me up. I rubble a hand over it and wince, sensing a bruise. Another pain in my back forces me to open my eyes. I shake my head slightly as I try to sit, doing my best to gather my bearings. My lower back has seen better days; looks like I was out for an hour or so. I take a deep breath and mumble the words along with my mind, trying not to collapse again.

My name is Katniss Everdeen. Mellark. I'm thirty-three years old. I'm married to Peeta. District Twelve is my home... and I think I'm pregnant.

A chill runs down my spine as the information is still sinking in. Perky sounds coming from my side make me turn my head, just to find three chipmunks feasting themselves with my puke. Definitely not a good hunting day. I need to go back. I need to find Peeta.

Peeta.

How am I supposed to explain him that I'm terrified for the same reason he'll be radiant? How I'm going to say "Oh, hey, Peeta, even though we were planning this for months, now that it's happened I don't think it was a good idea." He begged this for years... over fifteen years. He'd loathe me. How am I going to face this?

Reluctantly, I look down myself, adventuring a light stroke on my belly. I leave my hand there for some time, almost holding my breath. But no. I don't feel anything different than rampant fear. I've lost so many beloved ones in my life, caused so many deaths. This life will just be another one to fear for. I can't control the tears, rolling down my face. The sobs soon follow and I'm squatted against the tree again. I thought that I'd face it better when it happened; even thought I have to admit that I was wishing it'd never happen. I thought I'd be braver or at least not such a coward. I wipe the tears with the back of my hand and calmly stand up. The woods are not spinning, that's a good sign. The air is hot and sweat is forming on my forehead. I retract my hunting bag, the bow, the quiver. After another deep breath I head to town. For a moment I let the wood's sounds fill my head, trying to forget the reason why my heart is pounding.

I'm just past the Meadow when a thought crosses my mind. My eyes are swollen, my hair is a mess and I know my face probably is witching between mindless fear and panic. I can't let anyone see me. That would lead to questions, which would lead to tears and I'm not ready for this. I need Peeta first. I owe him that, to be the first one to know.

I don't use the path along the Seam. Instead, I continue to walk around the edge of the District. This will lead me to the back entrance of the Victor's Village and, hopefully, I won't see anyone until I get home.

The walk gives me time to steady myself. At least I'm not panting when I enter the Village, already sensing the smell of freshly baked bread from our house. My stomach grumbles and I realize I'm hungry again; even after the throwing up my stomach is begging for food. I wonder for how long I'll feel like this: hungry-puke-hungry again. I delicately open the door, a part of me not really wanting to face the next encounter.

He is facing the oven in the kitchen, the sweet smell stronger inside the house. He turns around hearing the sound of the door closing, not expecting anyone before the end of the day.

"Katniss? What are you doing here so early, did–" The joy in his face disappears as he takes a better look at me. I'm probably haggard. He frowns and attempts to clean his floured hands on his apron before striding towards me. "What happened, are you okay?" His voice is concerned and his powdered hands ran over my body, searching for some broken limb or a gash. After being sure I'm not with broken ribs, he gently touches my lightly swollen cheek, unsure if the gesture is hurting me.

"I'm fine." My voice is weak, which adds to his worry. Peeta ushers me to the couch in the living room, freeing me from my backpack and unused bow. I'm still searching for the words when he kneels to meet my eyes.

"What was it? Some animal? Are you hurt?" He's frowning and I feel guilty for letting him think I was chased by some wild dog or bear. Though I think that'd be easier to explain.

"I'm not hurt." My throat is dry from all the crying and I can't find the strength to tell him.

Relief runs his face in my small confession, and we remain silent as he brushes the hair back behind my ears. His hands smell like vanilla and cinnamon. It's no surprise I'm not good with words, he knows that after so many years together.

"So, what happened?" he asks after a couple of minutes, giving me time to elaborate an answer. His voice is soothing, making me bite my lower lip in regret to how I'm presenting this news for him. I should be happy, enthusiastic, letting him turn me around in a romantic embrace and watching him run around town yelling he's going to be a father. That's probably what he'll do anyway.

"It happened." I know the words were not the right ones as he looks at me with a puzzled expression, not understanding what I meant. Words are not my thing. Considering that, I get one of his hands that were resting on my thigh and carefully place it on my belly. That's the best I can do. "It happened." I repeat, hoping he'll understand.

I close my eyes as I expect a burst of joy from him, maybe some shouting or at least a smile. Instead of the yelling, he pulls me closer in an embrace, letting the tears stain his white sleeve. I didn't know I was crying again until I sense the dew on his shoulder.

"It's okay... we can handle this, right?" The happiness is in his voice, but it isn't alone. He's still worried about me. Oh, Peeta. When are you going to stop being such an altruist? He's wanting this for so long and now is controlling his elation because he knows I'm terrified. It just makes me feel selfish.

I nod in response, finally opening my eyes. He's smiling. I want to tell him that it's all right if he wants to shout, or to scream, or go wake up Haymitch and dance with him. "It's something good." He continues. "We're going to protect it, alright? No Reaping, no Games... it'll have a different life." He knows my concerns, of course he does. He has the same ones, although he was always courageous facing the future. "Why don't you go take a shower and maybe a nap? I'll call Doctor Powell to visit us; don't worry." His smile is just getting bigger as the idea is fulfilling him. I nod again.

He guides me to our bedroom, and really, I don't see the point in trying to carry me, it's not that suddenly I'm made of glass. He is about to leave the room to go use the phone when I call him back. "What, do you need anything? Do you want me to bring more pillows, or pajamas, water, or..."

Interesting... I'll have a personal slave in the next months. It's the first time I smile since I entered the house.

"I'm just a little hungry." I admit. His smile is wider, showing the tiniest of the wrinkles between his eyes; and I truly know he is happy.

"I'll bring you something!" he says excitedly, already rushing for the stairs.

I take a long shower, hoping the water will wash my fears away. I catch myself holding my tummy a couple of times, which surprises me. Maybe Peeta's joy is contagious. When I get to the bedroom again, there's a perfectly settled lunch tray on the nightstand with a ham sandwich, a cup of berries and a glass of orange juice. I devour everything in a blink of an eye. With my head rested upon the extra pillows, I finally relax. Peeta could be right. We can handle this, make it a good thing... right?

His singing interrupts my thoughts. I squint my eyes to realize if it's true. It is, Peeta is singing. I've never heard him sing; but there here is, probably wandering around the kitchen, overwhelmed with delight in the idea of being a father. I fall asleep imagining Peeta singing for an infant.

The sound of the front door opening wakes me up. The room is quiet; I'm alone in bed. Peeta's obviously been here, the tray with my lunch is gone. I hear a deep voice greeting Peeta, and I assume it's probably Doctor Powell. He came to District Twelve five years ago as one of the head doctors in the medical facility. But he also visits patients, which brings him here. Six months ago I had an appointment with him, because Peeta insisted on checking if we could have children. At the time he said we were a perfectly healthy and fertile couple. I guess he was right.

They are both laughing at some joke Peeta made as I descend the stairs. I'm wearing black pants and a light green long sleeved blouse. It is better this way, to cover all the scars. I notice that Peeta is also wearing a long sleeved shirt.

"Mrs. Mellark, I hope we didn't wake you," Doctor Powell is always polite, and he has a warm quality to his voice. His gray hair is combed to form a cowlick, a small reminder that he grew up in the Capitol. Peeta greets me with a peck on the cheek and a protective stroke on my arm. He heads to the kitchen to bring us beverages. While he is there, I take a seat in the living room, telling this morning's episode to the doctor. How my menstrual cycle is late, something that didn't happen for years, the nausea, the fainting and the bruise. Peeta was back by this part and is specifically alarmed, saying that I shouldn't go to the woods alone anymore. I just ignore him and continue to talk with the doctor.

"Katniss, just for confirmation, we should take some tests. I would like to ask you to use this." The doctor searched for something in his suitcase, getting a small box out, a syringe and a tube. He gives me the small rectangular box. "I also would like to collect a blood sample, to run usual tests."

I nod and glance at the paper box, turning it to read the instructions. Suddenly I think that the beverage was planned. I excuse myself to go to the bathroom, leaving the two alone again. For men it'd be easier, but I manage to pee in the little stick without much mess. I wait a little to see the results. Something stings my heart at this wait. What if I'm not pregnant? What if it was a false alarm? Why this idea is actually making me feel sad instead of relieved and...

Two sticks. Yep, pregnant.

I wrap the test in its box, realizing it is kind of gross to touch. I wash my hands and open the lavatory door, next to the living room. A pair of anxious blue eyes are expecting me; Peeta's hands are drumming on his sides as he waits. I'm startled to see him so close to the door. I even didn't hear him walk over.

"So?" He takes one of my hands into his, the other cupping my chin. I'm genuinely smiling as I caress his blonde short hair and rest my hand over his bearded face.

"Yes." I believe there's still a bit of fear in my voice, because he embraces me into a reassuring hug.

"We'll be fine. You'll be fine." he speaks to my hair.

"I know." And honestly, I think I do.

The rest of the appointment is quick. Dr. Powell congratulates us and for a moment I think Peeta's smile is going to fall down, because is too big for his face. I get some vitamins, diet suggestions, an order forbidding me to hunt and a book that contains more information. Peeta's smile is still on his face as he closes the door for the doctor.

"He'll run the tests with your blood sample and will call us by the end of the week." He walks towards me, getting the bottle of vitamins and the book, placing them on the kitchen table. We sit on the couch and I quickly find a cozy spot for my head on his chest. His hand reaches for my abdomen, and I know he'll do this every time he gets the chance. "You should call your mother." His eyes are closed, his chin resting on my head.

"How do you think she's going to react?" I place my hand above his.

"She'll probably want to come over, check on you. And we could use a little help when it's born." I can't see his face, but I'm sure he's still smiling.

"Do you think it's a boy or a girl?" Surprisingly, I'm the one wondering about this.

"Either would be wonderful." He circles his finger on my belly, protectively caressing it. "I could teach a girl to bake."

"Boys can bake too." The laugh is soft, his chest making me go up and down.

"Sure, they can. And girls can hunt."

It won't be easy, I know that. The nightmares are always with me, and now that I have someone new to love, it's also something new to fear and dwell on my bad dreams. But I'm not alone. Peeta will be there for me; during the mornings sickness, the mood swings, the new nightmares and the tears. It has been a long time since we agreed to protect each other, but the deal is still up. So, as I'm here, resting my head on my husband's chest, hearing his musings about the little being that is growing inside me, feeling him chuckle with his own jokes about girls hunting and boys baking, I feel safe. Safe that he'll protect me; that he'll protect our family.

At night, when he searches for my body in our bed, he's gentle. The urge from the past months, the achievement to obtain, it's not on his touches. He takes his time exploring my scarred body, pausing his hands on my belly, caressing, stroking... protecting. When his lips reach mine, it's not just for kisses, but for promises. Not promises of eternal love; promises of security, a future together, happiness. Deserved happiness. We deserve to be happy to honor all the ones that died. To honor our sacrifices.

He takes me gently, almost as if he's leading a virgin bride, making sure I'm comfortable. He doesn't want to disturb our child growing in me, but I assure him that it needs to feel the love between its parents. And that's what we should feel, love, comfort... we should feel safe.

I fall asleep with his soft snoring, one hand on my tummy, the other making a pillow for me.

My name is Katniss Everdeen-Mellark. I'm thirty-three years old. I'm married to Peeta. District Twelve is my home. I'm pregnant.

I'm happy.

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**Author's Note: **Thank you for reading.

Special thanks to the betareaders: **summersrain** and **ScarlletCrystal. **

Check out my other Hunger Games fic, _Between Pages_!

Maia


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